aftermath

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Archive for January 31st, 2009

Sit and Stare

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After a cup of black bean soup and half a tuna salad sandwich at Panera’s with Susan and Nat, I passed through Borders. More customers than the vacuum I normally find there, but still just a single register handling the checkout trickle, versus the four kept busy at B&N, which is where I am now headed.
 
But B&N has no books on Black Monday, not any I can find. And I don’t feel like asking at the service counter; I’ll just order online when I’m to that point, or visit the library.
 
And there are no computer books that snag me this time. And they’re rearranging their CD/DVD section, so I spend no more than 2 minutes there; and I breeze past the magazine wall even quicker. But right after I zero in on A Poet’s Guide to Poetry, a seat is vacated, so I settle in for the rest of the hour. I read just enough to decide I’ll add this book to my nightstand, then just sit and stare at the stacks of books.
Back at the house, instead of delving into my new book I turn to my Turco, with some distant vague fog of maybe reaching for what would be only my second stab ever at a sestina, or at least a takeoff on that bitch of a form. It tires me to consider it even semi-seriously, since only this morning I jettisoned a light villanelle before I felt finished with it; and I’ve almost never started off another poem in the very next breath, not since Hollis’ project back in college.
 
I really should make the attempt to touch base with Hollis again. That might not be as hard on my head as struggling with the sestina, which is already striking out in a different direction than my muse had been drifting.
 
But not just yet. Right now I need to empty that pool vacuum bag. Then backwash the pool. Then sit and stare at the clouds.
Lindsey and her boyfriend will join us for dinner tonight, together with Nat and Brandon. But I’d get in the way in the kitchen, so I turn the heating pad on for those sore back muscles and work on what’s left of my frap.
 
I can’t get started on that sestina yet, at least not on Jeanette. Blasted Windows failed to hibernate properly again, so the equipment is way too overheated and needs time to cool down. That’s ok: this next poem’s only been looming there all afternoon, likely won’t even find its first concrete word for another week or so at this rate.
 
Until dinner is served, I think I’ll just sit and stare at the fire.
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Written by macheide

31 January 2009 at 7:13 pm

Posted in Adrien

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Layoff Blues

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Not just bank tellers and stock exchange clerical staff (as in, employees ineligible for receiving bailout money in the form of bonus pay), auto workers, and nearly every industry and service and profession on down to chefs and lawyers and NFL staff and orchestral musicians; but now even zoo animals are being laid off.

About the only safe occupation these days is to be a G-man.

bumper sticker [www.internetbumperstickers.com] - whatev

Written by macheide

31 January 2009 at 11:49 am

Posted in whatev

Light Exercise

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My writing’s working out. Forget about dinner.
If put on hold, my poem might lose its bite,
like me. (Excuses don’t come any thinner.)
 
It’s not as though I’m just some raw beginner
who’s better off to eat well than to write.
My writing’s working out. Forget about dinner
 
until I’m done. What diligent webspinner
spins half its web then shuts down for the night?
Like me, excuses don’t come any thinner
 
than, “To the muse’s spoils belongs the winner,”
though I’d spoil what’s for dinner out of spite.
My writing’s working out. Forget about dinner.
 
Forgive the flat tastes fit this starving sinner,
but what goes on my tongue, be it delight
like me. (Excuses don’t come any thinner.)
 
I crave a savory beauty cooked up inner –
Such hunger doesn’t whet one’s appetite.
My writing’s working out. Forget about dinner
(like me). Excuses don’t come any thinner.

 
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Written by macheide

31 January 2009 at 7:57 am

Posted in last but not least

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